


Bluestreak’s Story

by TheJazzMeister



Series: When Refusing to Lose [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:55:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21827209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheJazzMeister/pseuds/TheJazzMeister
Summary: Bluestreak’s life up until he meets a certain enforcer.A side story to my WRtL, YWE series. Enjoy everyone!
Series: When Refusing to Lose [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1480427
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Bluestreak’s Story

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the side piece that details what little Blue has been up to during my WRtL, YWE. I hope you all enjoy! I look forward to your comments! If you’re new to my works, this can be read alone but the ending probably won’t make much sense. If you like this, then check out the rest of the series. Thanks all!

Bluestreak did not come into the world crying like most sparklings did. He came out talking. 

The medic had laughed at the babbling sparkling in his servos before he handed the little mechling to his creators. The carrier was tired, but smiled brightly at her newspark. Tiny grasping servos reached up to touch his faceplates. The sparkling continued to babble.

“Well!” the medic said smiling, “He’s just talking up a bluestreak!”

And the next orn saw the new creators taking home little Bluestreak. He was quite popular with the neighbors in their apartment complex. The couple was showered with gifts and trinkets to celebrate their new addition to their family. Older femmes cooed over the noisy sparkling and younglings all asked when he would be able to play. 

Still the sparkling babbled away, always happy, but  _ always  _ ‘talking’. He even made noise while he recharged. 

Eventually, the new creators brought Bluestreak back to the medics. 

“Tell me,” the mech said, “Were there any complications with the carrying?” 

The two creators glanced to one another in surprise.

“Of course not,” Sharpshooter said, “It was normal.”

They both stopped, realizing something. 

“Well,” Shield said, “When I was about four cycles into carrying, I slipped down the stairs in our apartment complex. It had rained the orn before and it was slick from the acid…”

The ordered a scan of Bluestreak.

The couple waited the next few orn tensely for the news back from the medic. Shield cleaned their apartment until it all but sparkled. Sharpshooter pulled long joors at the enforcers station. The call did finally come though.

“We found evidence of processor damage from when he was still being carried. That fall you took jostled him and he must have struck his helm. His language matrix has been compromised,” the medic told Sharpshooter.

“What does that mean for Bluestreak? Is he going to be stunted? Please, isn’t there anything you can do?” Sharpshooter begged.

“Please, Sharpshooter, calm down. Bluestreak is  _ not  _ stunted. The damage is not that kind of damage. To put it in basic terms, Bluestreak will struggle greatly to keep quiet. You see, in our processors, there is a sort of filter that makes us stop speaking. Bluestreak, just doesn’t really have that working at it’s full capacity. I’d say that by the time he is in his adult frame, he’ll have maybe thirty percent of his language filter working. As he develops, he’ll get more control, but as for now, it’s all but nonexistent.”

After thanking the medic, Sharpshooter went into their living room where Shield sat with Bluestreak. He shared the news. The two shared a look as Bluestreak lay on his back, wings splayed out and pedes kicking. He babbled happily around a dente ring.

*****

Bluestreak yelped as his teacher delivered five sharp slaps to his aft. Tears stung his optics as he was turned back to face the mech. 

“I’ve just about had enough, Bluestreak. This is the third time I’ve had to have you after class for punishment. If you can’t keep quiet during my lessons then I’ll be forced to send you to the principal and I can assure you he won’t just use his servo. He’ll take a paddle to your aft.”

Sniffling, Bluestreak gave his aft a rub and looked into his teachers face. He loved Trace and felt horrible about not being able to keep quiet. More tears slid down his cheeks and he lowered his helm back down.

“I’m sorry, Trace, sir. I don’t mean to disrespect. Honest. I just can’t help it,” he whimpered. 

He heard Trace sigh before large arms closed around him. He leaned into the hug and sighed.

“How about I give your creators a call, hmm? Maybe they can help me sort this out.”

*****

Bluestreak had been playing in soft rubber chips of the playground when sludge hit him in the face. Coughing and spitting oral lubricants mixed with sludge out of his mouth, he turned to his attackers. 

“Stunted!” the youngling shouted, his friend laughing along with him as they came up to him. 

“I am not! You’re just being mean!” Bluestreak shouted.

The larger mechling pushed him back down as he tried to stand. Bluestreak landed hard on his aft and shot a glare up at them. 

“You’re stunted and you know it, Bluestreak. Do you know what makes Praxus so much better than all the other cities on Cybertron? Because we don’t keep stupid flawed mechs around. You’d better watch out, Bluestreak. The enforcers are gonna come and take you away and make you a house servant like all the other stunted mechs! I bet it’ll be your own sire who gives you away! He’ll be happy to be rid of you!”

Bluestreak’s lower lipplate trembled with restrained emotion before he jumped up and turned to run away. 

That night, his creators shared a look over their nightly energon as Bluestreak sat at the table mumbling and twirling his energon in his cube. It was rare he mumbled and he only ever did it when upset.

Shield cleared his vocalizer. 

“How was your orn at school, Bitlet?”

“Fine,” Bluestreak said. He shut his mouth.

Sharpshooter was taken aback. The room rang with silence that they hadn’t experienced unless their sparkling was in recharge. He rose from his chair and walked behind his son. Bluestreak didn’t even look up, still playing with his energon.

“You didn’t get another spanking did you?” Sharpshooter asked, “Because we spoke with the principal and cleared all of that up.”

Bluestreak’s wings drooped even further.

“No, Sir. I didn’t get spanked.”

“Then what happened, Bitlet? You wings are so low you might as well be a shuttle!” he tweaked one of Bluestreak’s wings, “Where’s that Praxian pride?!”

“Am I stunted?” 

Both creators rocked back with shock. Shield was the first to recover.

“Of course not, Blue. Where did you ever get that idea?”

Bluestreak met his carrier’s optics, tears flowing down his cheeks.

“Is it true the enforcers will come and take me away if I’m stunted!? Please don't let them, Sire! I don't wanna leave you!” Bluestreak jumped up and into his sire’s waiting arms, babbling through his tears.

Sharpshooter gathered Bluestreak up and with his mate moved into their living room. Shield stroked their bitlet’s wings as they jumped with his sobs. 

“Blue,” Sharpshooter said into his audial, “You’re perfect. Nothing is wrong with you and you’re not stunted. No one is going to take you from us.” 

“But the others at school…”

“Are just being cruel! Bluestreak, nothing is wrong with you. You have nothing to worry about. Don’t worry your precious little helm about them. We’ll help you deal with this. We always will,” he said as he pressed a kiss to Bluestreak’s lips.

And they did. Bluestreak couldn’t find it in himself to be particularly  _ happy  _ that the two mechlings who had tormented him were sent to the principal, as he had a fairly good idea what had happened if their tear stained faces were any indication, but they were made to apologise nonetheless. The one who had thrown the sludge didn’t look very remorseful, but his friend did at least. All had been going well until his carrier had invited the second mechling over for a play date. 

*****

“Come on, Blue! We’re gonna be late!” Quicksilver shouted from his front door.

Bluestreak trampled down the stairs of the complex, dodging older mecha all the way. Bluestreak’s creators waited with his friend’s creators. Quicksilver all but vibrated on the spot. Today was the last day Quicksilver would be in his second frame and they were celebrating. 

Once out from the influence of the class bully, Quicksilver and Bluestreak had ended up finding a lot in common with one another. One play date turned into stay overs at each others homes and eventual trips into the neighboring city of Nitrus to go see the races. Bluestreak was aware that Quicksilver’s creators were far more wealthy than his, but that never seemed to stop them from inviting his creators along. Best of all, they never minded his talking. 

The pairs of creators transformed and Sharpshooter shrugged open his door to allow the two younglings into his cab. The two youngling chattered nonstop the entire trip about what they would do first once they got to the festival. 

The Festival of Crystals was the most popular event in Praxus, when they allowed all classes of Praxian’s to come into the gardens. Vendors and games and sparkling rides would e set up all over and Quicksilver had wanted to go before he was ‘too old’ to go on the ride anymore. That Bluestreak was invited was a given. Once there, the two friends jumped out of Sharpshooter and were off, heedless of their creators calls to wait up. 

The orn was one of the best Bluestreak had ever had. He and Quicksilver had all but made themselves sick off of treats, that while not very good sustenance, tasted wonderful. Once they got home their tanks would be settled enough for their actual supper before they went to berth. For now, they walked with their servos tucked into their respective carrier’s servos, finally tired enough to call it an orn. 

“It’s gonna be weird, you being taller than me when you get back to school,” Bluestreak said.

“Ha! Yeah, but you’re not far behind me. Tor says that my wings are gonna be really heavy for a few cycles until I get used to them. I’m afraid it’ll hurt,” Quicksilver said.

Sharpshooter chuckled and reached out to give Quicksilver’s wing a little pinch. 

“You’ll be fine, Quicksilver. Your sire is right. It’ll feel strange, but it shouldn’t hurt.”

“If you say so, Sir.”

“I know so.”

Bluestreak smiled. His sire always knew the answers. He was never wrong. 

Suddenly, the ground shook, causing the two families to stumble. A low rumble sounded and the crystals around them clinked together dangerously. Shield picked Bluestreak up and he turned to see Quicksilver snatched up into his own carriers arms as well.

“Sharp? What was that?” Shield said, sounding scared.

Bluestreak looked to his sire, suddenly just as upset. Carrier had never sounded like this before. Sire stood still for a moment, servo up to his audial as he took a comm. His optics grew wide just as a sharp loud noise pierced the air around them. Sharpshooter screamed something then, but his voice was lost in the roar of engines. The world exploded around them as the bombs fell. 

They ran, explosions ripping up the ground around them and sending knife like crystal shards flying. Bluestreak screamed into his carriers chassis at the deafening sounds before he chanced a look up. Quicksilver and his family were nowhere to be seen. His sire ran behind them, his wings fanned out to protect them from debris. 

Then, his sire was gone as a blast threw a part of wall onto him. A sharp yelp escaped Shield and he fell. Bluestreak tumbled from his grasp and landed awkwardly on his arm. Pain ripped up from his wrist and he pushed himself off of it in time to see his carrier clutching his chassis. Shield’s mouth was opened in a silent scream, or perhaps he was screaming but it was too loud for Bluestreak to hear. One of the large crystals, one Bluestreak recognized from the opening of the garden exploded behind him. Tiny shards shredded into his back, with one larger shard imbedding into his right wing. 

Sobbing from the sudden pain, he began to crawl toward his carrier only to stop. Shield lay on his side, mouth still open but already going grey, a crystal shard as large as his fist was lodged into his throat. Bluestreak didn’t even have time to reach out. Someone, he never found out who, snatched him up and continued to run towards the entrance. He tried to fight the mech, but once close enough to the entrance, he was flung into the air. 

He landed just outside of the now caved in entrance. With no other choice, he ran.

Eventually, he made his way onto the main street, the bombs still falling around him. Stunned, he slowed from a run to a walk before he collapsed onto his knees. Bloody and dented, with his right wing hanging limply, he crawled the last bit to lay beneath the lip of an ornate fountain. 

Bomb after bomb fell and he watched in complete numbness as the street around him collapsed. He watched other mecha get crushed by falling debris or flying shards. One bomb exploded so close to him it burned his arms and legs. A wall collapsed on the fountain and tented over him. Vorn later he would realize that that was what probably saved his life.

When it finally fell silent, he lay there for a long time. Listening to the quiet. He never even noticed as he fell into recharge.

*****

He woke to the sound of a laser shot. Curling up tightly, he whimpered to himself. He hurt. He was scared. Carrier was gone. So was Sire. Quicksilver. He was alone. Another shot, closer this time. He jerked and hunched further into his hiding spot. He wanted to call out, but he knew it was dangerous. Sire always warned him against approaching strange mecha. 

Two thrusters crashed down in front of the rubble that was covering him and he slapped a servo over his mouth to keep from screaming. 

“Aren’t you imbeciles done yet?! We’ve not got long to finish off survivors in this quadrant before the Autobots show up!”

Definitely not good mecha. Bluestreak clutched his mouth tighter.

“There’s still one more signal, but it’s faint and we can’t get a lock!” 

That must have been the mech making the laser shots. His sire had always told him never to play with his blaster. It could hurt him…

“Forget it! They’re probably trapped under the rubble! They’ll be offline by the joor. Rise up!”

And with that, the silence returned. It suffocated him.

*****

Four orns. Four orns since he’d last eaten a meal. Four orns since he’d last laid on a berth. Four orns since he’d been warm. He wanted his sire to hold him. 

His servos shook as he climbed over the remains of a building. He’d been doing a lot of climbing lately. As he finally came to the top of the rubble pile he froze. Not far from him, there was light. A camp. This one looked different than the bad mecha camps. 

He moved in closer. 

Sneaking around the brightly colored mecha was easy. Definitely not the bad mecha, but he didn’t know who they were. Best to stay quiet. He’d been doing very well at being quiet in the past few orn.

He slid quietly into one of the only tents in the camps and glanced around. He froze when he spotted the mech on the cot, but his back was to Bluestreak and he appeared to be recharging. Then he spotted the energon. His mouth actually filled with oral lubricant at the sight of it. 

He held his servo over his mouth as the urge to speak grew with his nervousness. The other servo reached towards the energon. He was so close, yet still couldn’t reach. Lowering his servo away from his mouth, he inched forward. 

A noise came from his right and he turned, servos still outstretched towards the cube. The mech had woken up and was looking right at him...


End file.
